


Duodenary

by leftfoottrapped (miikkaa_xx)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/leftfoottrapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yixing is the temple-keeper for the god of water, Lord Suho, and lives alone up in the mountain temple, until one winter, a pilgrim named Junmyeon arrives, asking for lodging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duodenary

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the [relay fic fest](http://relayficfest.livejournal.com/), prompt [#145](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1iuzUQ1Sjjt7OQ5HnJyuVg2iBAj06uHkFSuzZGaA5K4g/edit#gid=0); alas I missed the submission deadline (sorry, mods!!) but I'll post this anyway
> 
>  **warnings:** language, explicit sex, magic, and I suppose a slow burn~ unbeta'd - all errors are mine.

  
  
  
  
  
(the first trial)  
  
  
  


**january, 1999**

**i.**

He is sitting on the stairs leading to the main gate of Lord Suho's temple when Yixing finds him.

In the early morning gloom, Yixing sweeps the snow off the steps, his breath misting in the air, almost making him miss the figure right in front of him, back towards Yixing, seemingly unbothered by the soft sounds behind him.

'Hello,' greets Yixing.

The figure doesn't startle, just looks over his shoulder to see Yixing standing two steps above him. He's dressed in pale blue silks, wrapped around him loosely, complementing the pallor of his skin, the dark of his hair standing out against the starkness of the snow-covered forest around him.

'Are you lost?' asks Yixing.

'No,' replies the other. He rises gracefully to his feet, turns around, smiling softly now. His face is handsome - dark eyes, strong brows, high cheeks, pink mouth in an easy smile. Yixing feels like they've met before. 'I'm looking for a place to stay.'

'Where are you from?' Yixing looks around them, at the high tips of the pine trees around, the soft glow of the sun in the sky behind a heavy layer of clouds, the morning fog that obscures the peaks of the mountain range in the distance.

'Around,' he says. His hands are small; they draw his silk robes tighter around himself. 'I'm being chased, actually. I suppose I need a place to hide.'

'Chased?' Yixing tries to think of anyone in the town below who would chase someone like this man up a mountain pathway to the temple, and comes up blank. Still, Yixing is not one to judge. 'You're in danger.'

'Yes.' The man inclines his head. 'Let me seek refuge here, in this temple.'

'My name is Yixing, I'm the temple-keeper,' he says. 'You're welcome to stay for however long you need, as long as you pay the proper respects.'

'Of course.' He smiles, eyes creasing at the corners. 'My name is Junmyeon.'

Yixing smiles back. 'Welcome home, Junmyeon.'

**ii.**

Junmyeon fits the temple robes well - coloured a deep blue over top, with a winter underlayer of black to keep warm. He likes to make tea for Yixing and doesn't mind doing menial chores like sweeping the temple and clearing the snow, while Yixing does daily check-ups on leaks, frozen pipes, the heating, and general upkeep of the temple. They're a good team, thinks Yixing, even if Junmyeon is a little odd.

Odd in that Junmyeon eats little, blinks rarely, and is clueless of many technological things. He's a quick learner of course - while slightly alarmed at the washing machine when they were first acquainted, Junmyeon has used it once already without ruining everything, so Yixing figures Junmyeon was raised in an old-school place.

Junmyeon also talks a lot, of very inane things. 'There are still birds around. I think I saw a deer today. What do you plant in the gardens in the summer?' Yixing tries to keep up, feels his tongue curl up and trip, still feeling unused. Silence is Yixing's old friend, muteness his default state of being; Junmyeon is new and eager, strange and foreign.

'Am I overwhelming you?' Junmyeon once asks, with a guilty expression on his face.

Yixing shakes his head, retorts. 'Will you remember everything I'm saying?'

'Yes,' says Junmyeon, looking right at Yixing with a shine in his eyes. Eager, breathless. 'I simply want to know everything about this place.'

Yet, for all of Junmyeon's technological ignorance, his religious practices are rigorously maintained. He folds his robes over himself neat and proper, ritually purifies himself whenever needed, has every mantra memorized, knows each and every blessing, can recite versions of mythologies of the Twelve that even Yixing has never heard.

'Tell me more,' says Yixing one evening. 'What do you mean about the myth of the white room?'

Junmyeon smiles behind his mug of tea. 'It's an old story, between two gods.'

'I know them all,' says Yixing, watching the light shine off the curve of Junmyeon's cheek. 'I swear.'

'Do you?' Junmyeon laughs. 'Some of them have been lost to time.'

'What time?' There are secrets hidden in the corners of Junmyeon's eyes.

'A long time.' His voice is soft, laden with unsaid things. 'Years and years.'

Junmyeon is strange, thinks Yixing. Yet he fits here - in the creaking mountain temple, with its shadowed corners and lit up rooms, modernized in only recent decades but still infused with a holiness that is centuries old.

Together, they will sometimes light incense in the main room, where a statue of Lord Suho, carved ever so carefully from wood, sits upon his raised dias.

The statue is not so tall that Yixing can't reach the top of his head if he stood on his toes, but when they sit before the statue, Suho looms, benevolent yet authoritative in his demand for worship. The statue sits with one knee raised, an arm stretched out over it, with a hand loosely in the air, fingertips hanging downwards to symbolically drip water from the heavens onto Earth. His other leg is tucked close, his other hand placed palm-up upon on his knee, to receive his followers' offerings in exchange for his blessings.

Though the posture seems loose, welcoming, Suho's robes are tightly tucked into his form, not a fold out of place, and it reminds Yixing of Junmyeon, who sits beside him.

When they pray together, Junmyeon will be the one to choose a mantra to sing, his voice sweet and echoing, and Yixing will join him, harmonizing as best he can. He thinks this is the best part of having someone else - of having _Junmyeon_ \- here. The way a prayer feels manifold more important, more powerful, when infused with more than one voice. He imagines someday, with enough voices, Suho will sing back, croon a sweet, ' _yes_ ,' before soaking the land in holy rain.

In just a week, Junmyeon _fits_ , in all his strangeness.

It's the way he looks at Yixing and grins, something like quiet excitement bubbling under his smile, and Yixing can't help but smile back, feeling something innately _familiar_ about Junmyeon. That despite getting used to him living here, Yixing has known him for far longer than time lets on.

**iii.**

They go grocery shopping in town for the month. While sitting in his Roewe minivan, Yixing prays to Lord Xiumin for clear roads, prays to Lord Sehun to keep the winds to a minimum for safety, and then prays to Lord Suho for a successful outing. Junmyeon sits in clear distress next to him, one hand clutching the seatbelt while his eyes follow the swinging of a blue water droplet pendant that hangs off the rear view mirror.

In town, Junmyeon follows Yixing around, asking too many questions for Yixing to keep up, and hums thoughtfully to himself as he helps load up the van with food and supplies. He wears his temple robes with usual elegance, but sticks out next to Yixing's coat and jeans and boots, but Junmyeon insists he's fine.

They eat at a small restaurant. It is just past noon when they sit down, and Minseok comes over to take their order, asking Yixing to stay awhile so they can catch up.

'But then the groceries will go bad,' says Yixing. 'I'll be here in a couple of days for the festival anyway.'

'Luhan's been asking about you too,' says Minseok, pointedly aiming for a guilt-trip. Yixing shrinks a little regretfully, then gestures to Junmyeon across from him.

'This is Junmyeon, a pilgrim staying with me. I'm not up there all alone anymore.'

Junmyeon smiles; he's handsome enough that even Minseok seems a little taken aback. 'Hello.'

'Hi,' replies Minseok, blinking. 'Ah - well, have you both decided what you'd like?'

After Minseok is gone, Junmyeon leans forward, eyes on Yixing, voice low. 'I don't think he likes me.'

Surprised, Yixing furrows his brow. 'You're just a little weird. But funny.'

Apparently that's the wrong thing to say because Junmyeon leans back with a little pout, adjusting the sleeves of his robe in silence.

'It's not a bad thing,' reassures Yixing after a minute of watching Junmyeon sulk. 'I like it.'

Junmyeon looks at him, almost seeming surprised. 'It's been almost three weeks since I've been here...'

'Yeah.'

'When must I leave? Now that I know there's a town here, I suppose I can go away now.'

Yixing stares at him. 'What - Junmyeon - '

Junmyeon meets his gaze. 'I can't pay for this meal, Yixing. Nor the supplies you've just bought. And I won't be able to the next time we do this.'

'You don't have to.' Yixing lays his palms flat on the table. 'My temple is not a hotel.'

'I will leave,' says Junmyeon. 'The ones chasing me - they've surely given up now. I've only stayed here so long to indulge my whims.'

'Sweeping the temple is not fun,' Yixing says, a touch exasperated.

'No, I suppose not.' Junmyeon smiles a little. 'But it's peaceful. Being there, with you, is peaceful.'

'Then stay.' Yixing is surprised at his own vehemence, but he can't help it. He wants to sing with Junmyeon, and drink his tea, and watch him in all his strangeness. 'Please stay.'

'I...' For a moment, Junmyeon ducks away from Yixing's gaze, jaw clenched tight, then he looks up. 'I would like to stay. Would you let me - even if I am like this?'

'Yes,' replies Yixing. He holds out a hand, and Junmyeon's surprised by it, before he reaches out to lay his palm over top Yixing's, hesitantly squeezing back when Yixing does so. Yixing lets go soon after, and Junmyeon's hand lays curled and small on the table.

-

  
  
  
  
  
(the second trial)  
  
  
  


**march, 1999**

**i.**

'Tell me an old story.'

'The white room one?'

Yixing hums. 'You've teased that one for so long that it'll never live up now.'

'Are you implying that a story of the Twelve might be boring?' Junmyeon laughs. 'Isn't that blasphemic?'

Careful not to spill his tea, Yixing nudges his shoulder against Junmyeon's. 'You know what I mean.'

Junmyeon nods, smile still playing on his mouth. 'What do you know of Lord Dyo?'

'He's Lord of the ground upon which we stand, the material that we use - whether that's to build or eat,' says Yixing. 'He's close to Suho. I heard in some places, he's considered Suho's lover.'

' _Really_?' says Junmyeon, peeking out from the corner of his eye. 'How about here?'

Yixing waves a hand through the air. 'Here, it's told that Suho has slept with every god of the Twelve, and then some.'

Junmyeon pauses before laughing, curling into his lap. 'A most promiscuous god.'

'Well, when you're Lord of water, that's what you do,' shrugs Yixing. 'Everything needs water, everyone wants Suho.'

Once the laughter dies off, Junmyeon has pink in his cheeks. It makes him especially beautiful in the low light of the main dining room they sit in, satiated with dinner and basking in each other's presence with tea. He leans towards Yixing a little, like he's confessing a secret. 'I heard he's married.'

Yixing chokes on his sip of tea, coughs it out. 'Don't tell me he's been cheating on his spouse this entire time. _That's_ blasphemy.'

'No, no, it's an open marriage,' reassures the other with utter confidence. Yixing wonders if this is also in another old myth lost to the ages.

'Tell me then. About Dyo or Suho's marriage.'

Junmyeon licks his lips in thought, eyes going half-lidded in thought as he watches the steam rise from the mug in his hands. 'In Scripture, it is written that Dyo is the god of creation - of earth and its materials. It does not make mention much of his more malevolent nature.'

'There's the myth of earthquakes,' points out Yixing. 'Every time one of the other Twelve plays a prank on him, he gets a temper, and he yells loud enough that the earth moves and cracks open.'

Shaking his head, Junmyeon taps the wooden floor they sit on. 'Did you know there's fire under the earth? A great raging fire, right at the centre?'

'The Earth's core,' nods Yixing.

'This story is about that.'

For a moment, Yixing doesn't register the weight of the words before he's peering at Junmyeon curiously. 'The Scripture was written millenia ago, by people who had no idea about that.'

Junmyeon smiles, a glint in his eye. 'Perhaps that is also why it was lost. Under a landslide of disbelief.'

Unable to help it, Yixing laughs a little. He imagines if Junmyeon tried speaking a bit more like... everyone else, his jokes would still be just as bad. 'Then tell me.'

**ii.**

Yixing's world floods at the end of March.

No landline can reach up to the temple, so Yixing has a radio set-up in his room in the temple. The call comes through in the early afternoon, Yifan's voice crackling through: 'Just letting you know the restaurant's basement collapsed a couple hours ago.'

Junmyeon comes with Yixing in the van as they drive down the path to the town, and get there in record time. Minseok and Luhan's car is parked on the curb, their trunk open and loaded with boxes. There are a dozen people moving in and out of the restaurant, trying to salvage what was in the basement, as well as bring in equipment and tools to fix up the place.

'We completely reinforced the place before spring as usual,' says Luhan when he sees Yixing. 'I swear.'

'Are you hurt? Minseok?' says Yixing, worry spilling through his voice as he pulls Luhan into a hug in relief. Minseok is beside him, clapsing a comforting hand over Yixing's shoulder.

'No one got hurt, thankfully,' says Minseok, smiling at him. 'You look more scared than anyone else here.'

'I - ' starts Yixing, but doesn't know what to say, just keeps holding onto Luhan's hand, grabs Minseok's too. 'Yifan wasn't clear. I panicked.'

Luhan scowls. 'Yifan makes everything sound like someone's been murdered.'

'It's just his voice,' soothes Minseok.

'What about it?' asks Yifan, passing them by while holding a box, loading it into the open car trunk. He sees Yixing and hugs him too. 'I told you we didn't need your help.' He peeks over Yixing's shoulder, spots Junmyeon lingering behind in silence. 'You introduced your pilgrim to these two but not me?'

'Sorry.' Yixing turns around and tugs on Junmyeon's sleeve. Junmyeon startles, jerking his unblinking gaze from the restaurant to Yixing, confused for a moment, before relaxing. 'Something wrong?'

'No, no, I - ' Junmyeon pulls his sleeve away from Yixing, but smiles at Yifan, introduces himself.

With that done, they begin moving again. Yixing tries to explain to Junmyeon as they join in to help clear out the basement. 'When warmer weather comes, it's common for the melting snow to have the little streams and rivers flooding. The frozen ground would also start defrosting and screw up a lot of foundations in the town's buildings, but we've been reinforcing them for generations. We haven't had a complete collapse in decades.'

The rubble is finally cleared by the time evening comes around. Junmyeon's robes are covered in dust and splinters of wood, splatters of mud. Yixing's coat and jeans aren't doing any better. They are welcome to stay over at Yifan's while Minseok and Luhan store away what they were able to save from their restaurant. It's dangerous to drive up the mountain in pitch blackness.

Yifan has many spare bedrooms, but only one is free at the moment, so Yixing reassures Junmyeon. 'We're old friends so I'll sleep with Yifan, you get some rest. Thank you for helping out.'

Junmyeon sits on the edge of the bed, the same expression of thoughtfulness from hours before on his face. Finally, he looks up at Yixing, 'what will you do tomorrow?'

Yixing stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugs. 'It's water damage. I'll take care of the repairs.'

The answer has Junmyeon's brows furrowing. 'You will take responsibility for a natural occurrence?'

'We're not a superstitious people, Junmyeon.' Yixing comes to sit beside him, folding his hands in his lap. 'But my family has kept the temples, has taken care of those affected by what the temple would consider Suho's responsibility. We're his attendants.'

'Suppose Yifan spilled water on his couch, ruined its fabric? Are you to say that 'yes, Yifan, I will pay for your new furniture'?' Junmyeon scoffs, acidic, mean. 'That's absurd, Yixing.'

The sharpness has Yixing recoil, confusion at the back of his throat as he sees the scowl on Junmyeon's face. 'It's not like that. You know it's not.'

Except Junmyeon does not stop. 'They will take advantage of you. Will anyone help you in return?'

'Yes,' says Yixing, immediately, just as quick and sharp as Junmyeon insists on being. 'What do you expect of people, Junmyeon?'

'You cannot forever feel so generous.' He lays it out like it's law, indisputable, natural.

'I _can_ ,' replies Yixing, vehement. 'Maybe I'm the greedy one.'

'Are you?'

'By giving, I make myself feel better, feel useful, _blessed_.' Yixing shrugs, splays his hands through the air. 'I'm greedy for a purpose. I love having one - _this_ one, taking care of people.'

Junmyeon stares at him balefully, his handsome face drawn into something harsh, unforgiving. Yet Yixing can't pull away from him. He shakes his head, tries to reach out for Junmyeon's fingers, is surprised when Junmyeon allows the touch. His skin is warm, even if his demeanour isn't.

'And even if I am used,' says Yixing softly, 'there are dozens more who wouldn't do that to me. Should I not give for them? Like _you_.'

That at least cracks through Junmyeon's expression, has him gazing into his lap, looking more tired and sad than anything else. It is easy, thinks Junmyeon, to read the feelings that flit across Junmyeon's face, even if the rest of him wrapped up in a blanket of strange mystery.

'You give too much,' says Junmyeon, soft and sad. He drops his head onto Yixing's shoulder. 'One day you will tire.'

There is something else. Something untold, unspoken. But Yixing cannot hear it. He only feels the warmth of Junmyeon beside him, pressed close, and imagines everything is okay for now.

The next day, and day after that, all the weeks it takes for the restaurant to get back on its feet again, Yixing works out the labour and finances and takes care of it. All throughout, Junmyeon stays.

**iii.**

'In the long history of gods' lives, they fall in and out of love with each other all the time.

'For Chanyeol, he fell in love with Dyo, chased after him as much as he could. He charmed him with the eruption of volcanoes and the fierce blaze of comets in the sky. He was willing to do everything and more if it meant that Dyo would look his way, grant him his love.

'Eventually, at the pestering of the other gods, Dyo gave in. He loved Chanyeol for many years, centuries, which is but a blink in a god's life.

'One day, Chanyeol came upon Dyo granting his love to another, a second lover. Heartbroken and destroyed, Chanyeol descended upon the earth and wept until his tears ignited the entire earth in flames.

'The rains and ice of both Suho and Xiumin was unable to conquer the flames. They were not regular flames, but the flames of anger and desire all at once, impossible to quench except by an equal force.

'And so Dyo, angered and hurt that Chanyeol would cause such devastation, vowed to do all it took to save the earth. He moved the lands, caused tsunamis to douse the land, used the rocks of mountainsides in landslides as well. Yet as long as the source of Chanyeol remained, the flames would always return.

'At the end of his options, Dyo came to Chanyeol and told him to stop. Chanyeol refused, claimed Dyo had another lover. Dyo denied the claim, yet of course it was too late by this point. Chanyeol would never believe him. And so Dyo opened the earth under Chanyeol's feet and swallowed him whole.

'Chanyeol screamed and tried to claw his way out, but the weight of the entire earth weighed upon him. Finally, Dyo closed the crack, doused the fires, and used Chanyeol's heat in the centre of the world to regrow all that was lost.

'Eventually, Chanyeol was reborn back within the heavens, while his old flame self was trapped in the centre. He did not remember whatever had occurred. That is the Chanyeol you know, the one written within Scripture.

'One could say the lesson is to not cheat on your lover, I suppose. Another is to not bring other things into your feud or the consequences will be dire. Perhaps simply that all things can end - even if they are centuries old. There are many things.'

A shift. A hum. 'Did Dyo ever have a second lover?'

'That's the question, isn't it? What did Chanyeol see? What did Dyo give?'

'What do you think?'

'Dyo fucked someone else.'

A laugh. 'I like to think it was only a misunderstanding.'

'You are too optimistic, Yixing.'

'And you're not enough.'

-

  
  
  
  
  
(the third trial)  
  
  
  


**june, 1999**

**i.**

It is the month that Yixing falls in love, just a little.

Though the radio is supposed to only be used during emergencies, Luhan somehow manages to wrestle it from the town hall to tell Yixing to come down. The university year is over and Taozi is home again. He's even brought a friend.

Junmyeon fusses over his robes for minutes when Yixing tells him they will be meeting someone special. 'Luhan, Yifan, and I basically raised Zitao since he was small. He's our dear baby brother.' So Junmyeon carefully folds and refolds his temple robes - this time a soft pale blue of spring, with an underlayer coloured a more bright blue to ward off the chill.  He looks especially lovely, thinks Yixing. He always does.

In town, they are all sitting around a table in the restaurant when Yixing and Junmyeon finally arrive. It's then that Yixing meets Zitao's friend - gentle, quiet Kim Jongin.

Beside Jongin is Zitao, who is enamoured by Junmyeon's quirks quickly enough, eyes curious and darting over him as Junmyeon preens under the attention, tries for more bad jokes and compliments on Zitao's smile, his laugh. Junmyeon is charming that way - even in the temple, he is oddly attentive over Yixing, making little snipes of how Yixing mustn't strain his back with chores or sleep too late into the night.

'Xing-ge,' starts Zitao, 'I haven't been at the temple yet. Can me and Jongin come up with you both?'

Junmyeon opts to sit in the back of the van beside Zitao, and Jongin is relegated to the passenger seat next to Yixing. it's then that Jongin smiles a bit shyly, says Zitao always told him about this place, so he's always wanted to see.

'He talks a lot about you too,' admits Jongin after a moment, looking into his lap, perhaps embarrassed. 'The most kind one of the three.'

After that, Jongin keeps close to him, listens to Yixing as he shows Jongin around and explains this and that. They spend time in the May sunshine, crossing the courtyard to the gardens, where Yixing is carefully curating his vegetables and herbs.

The warm weather means that after some food, Zitao and Jongin decide to walk the mountain trail back to town, not wanting Yixing to make another trip. They promise to be back soon, and Yixing can't help but feel just a little giddy over the fact.

Junmyeon returns to Yixing's side, and they have tea and sweets on the upper floor's veranda, legs swinging off the ledge.

'You took a liking to the boy,' remarks Junmyeon, a little presumptious in his tone, like he knows all. Yixing wants to laugh.

'Yeah,' he admits readily. 'It feels like it's been a long time since I've met someone so...'

'Quiet?' he suggests.

'I think so,' says Yixing.

Junmyeon goes silent after that, responds to Yixing in hums and nods, his gaze lost on the sunset-streaked sky that lit up the mountain peaks in oranges and golds.

In the following week, Jongin and Zitao visit once more, and then Jongin shows up alone a few days later, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat as he admits he had walked up the mountain trail himself, alone. To see Suho, he says, and to see Yixing, he adds later, his voice low and abashed and sweet.

It's easy then for Yixing to be charmed. Especially with a boy who loves the outside, who does not mind accompanying Yixing into the gardens, cheering him on as he pulls weeds and tells him about his own home in a bigger town. He has three dogs and a best friend who must miss him. Yixing listens and laughs and maybe falls in love, just a little.

**ii.**

The snowstorm comes down on them hard at the end of the month. Yixing likes to imagine his garden might have survived if it had just been a light frost, but it’s a snowstorm, and there is no light at the end of this.

Junmyeon doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He helps Yixing board up the doors and makes soup and rice for them to eat to ward off the chill. Yixing refuses to go downstairs to turn on the boiler for something like two or three days of cold, so they both wear thick temple robes for the winter instead.

‘You’re annoyed about something,’ remarks Junmyeon a few hours into the entire event. They sit on top of Yixing's bed, next to each other, watching the opening screen play out on the small TV on the desk across from them, controllers in their laps.

'I was hoping my first batch of veggies would survive,' sighs Yixing, watching the Nintendo 64 logo appear. 'And...'

'And...?' prompts Junmyeon. He brings his legs up and crosses them on the bed, getting comfortable. 'Jongin definitely won't come up the mountain today.'

Yixing glances over at him. 'Are you... happy about that?'

'What,' laughs out Junmyeon, blinking fast. 'That's cruel of you to imply.'

The screen is done loading now. As player 1, Yixing sets up the game. He sighs. 'I spent a lot of my budget helping Lu-ge and Minseok out. I won't have enough to get to summer if I can't grow my own food.'

'Greedy people,' hums the other, flipping through the avatar icons to pick one as player 2.

'Ah,' whines Yixing, choosing the race track. Yoshi and Princess Peach appear on the screen in their respective go-karts. 'I didn't want to tell them I'm having difficulties.'

'You might have to lay down your pride and ask _them_ for help,' mentions Junmyeon, voice airy, as if unconvinced Yixing would get any.

Yixing glances over. 'I just don't want them go out of their means to help me.'

Princess Peach knocks Yoshi back and takes the lead; Junmyeon making a pleased noise as he nods. 'You think highly of people.'

'You're just a pessimist,' sighs Yixing, too used to this argument to get into it. Yoshi is on Princess Peach's flank and gaining. 'I didn't know you didn't like Jonginnie.'

Junmyeon snorts. 'Jonginnie is fine; but you like him too much.'

Yixing blows up Princess Peach's kart. 'Too much, hm?'

The words seem to get through Junmyeon's head a few seconds later and then he's flustered, stuttering; Princess Peach swerves dangerously all over the track. 'I don't mean - however you took it - not like that - _Yixing_!'

Yoshi wins the race and Yixing wiggles in joy on the bed, before he takes a look at Junmyeon's wide eyes. The alarmed look on his handsome features is too much to take, and Yixing can't help but collapse on his back against the bed, muffling his laughter behind his palms, before Junmyeon realizes he's being mocked and huffs.

By the third day, the snowstorm has subsisted and the garden is beyond saving. Minseok just laughs at Yixing's luck and cooks him huge amounts of food to take back up the mountain for the next few weeks. 'Just come back when you run out.'

Right before they leave to drive up, Luhan catches Yixing by the sleeve and smiles at him. 'I'm glad you told us, you usually stubborn idiot.'

Yixing fakes feeling hurt, and gets into the minivan with a smile. Beside him, Junmyeon is watching Luhan wave at them from the doorway of their home. His expression is soft, considering.

**iii.**

'This temple has roots to the time the Twelve created the universe.'

'And how do you know that?'

A huff. 'Do you not trust my religious instincts after so long?'

'If you weren't so weird, I wouldn't believe half the things you talk about.' A tease.

'My habits are my own, it is your percept of reality that deems it strange.'

'Nevermind that. Tell me - how is my home millenias old?'

'You know as well as I do that it is built too recent to be as old as a millenia.' A rustle of cloth, a contemplative hum. 'But the beliefs and stories that linger around here are old. Ancient enough that you have a boy named Luhan in your town, in this day and age.'

'Ah, right.' A sigh. 'My grandmother always believed that the Exiled were gods in their own right. Everywhere else though - I've heard the Twelve are split into the Nine, or even the Eight, with the rest as Exiled demons.'

'Since you worship Lord Suho, I suppose the Exiled don't come up. Do you know anything about them?'

'Only what's in Scripture. They were born as Twelve, but as time passed and the cycle of reincarnation continued, they didn't stay always together. Some split away, to rule independently over their own domains. It's a bit hazy what Scripture meant. Did they stay in the heavens? People think they descended in the darkness. So during the day, the, say, Eight rule, and when the sun sets, the Exiled take over.'

'It is true that three of them preferred to work unhindered - that is Kris, Tao, and Luhan. The fourth is Lay, who mediated between the two, I suppose, factions of gods.'

'If my grandmother didn't believe that Suho was the lord of all Twelve, she always said she would've chosen Lay as her patron god.'

A soft laugh. 'It's a good choice. I will have to tell you more of him.'

'Who do you want to talk about first?'

'Luhan. Luhan and his lover.'

'Don't scare me by telling me Luhan murders his lovers too.'

'No, Luhan is very devoted. Scripture does not mention it, but Luhan has always been in love with the ice. In the dark of the night, Luhan steals away to Xiumin's side, keeps him company.

'It is why, when winter comes and the nights are long, the ice grows fast and dangerous before the sun comes up.'

'A metaphor for sex, Junmyeon?'

A snort of derision. 'They do not _fuck_. Well - I'm sure they do, but it is the devotion and adoration that keeps them together.'

'You're saying the eldest, most beautiful god whom everyone loves - that one is in love with a demon?'

'I suppose it sounds more romantic that way. In essence, Luhan, god of movement, is frozen by his affection for Xiumin, god of ice.'

'Is that the story? Luhan is Xiumin's dark demonic lover?'

'I suppose.' Laughter, shrugging. A quietening. 'I wanted to tell you about the gods' passions, and the gods' cruelty. The fact that Xiumin's heart broke when Luhan was Exiled. That he walks often among mortals in his various avatars, looking into shadows for Luhan. It is told that mortals who die of the cold are the ones caught in between Luhan and Xiumin's spaces.

'To walk amongst ice and snow is to venture into Xiumin's domain - where all seems pure, untouched, hiding a cruel, ruthless power. The beauty of Xiumin is balanced by the fact that he abandons his sympathy for mortal lives when Luhan appears before him, rising from shivering shadow to embrace him.

'Death comes when Xiumin and Luhan reunite. Cold is not enough to kill - when cold to the bone, the mortal, in all their terrified, frozen terror, begins to overheat. They kick off their boots and shed their furs and layers, and die in the snow, caught between Xiumin's ice and his overabundance of love that overtakes him when has reunited with his lover.'

A deep breath. 'It's called hypothermia.'

'And it has always been known.'

'All the bad things that happen in the world are because gods are forgetful, then?'

'No. They happen because the gods are as terribly, intimately human as any mortal.'

-

  
  
  
  
  
(the fourth trial)  
  
  
  


**september, 1999**

**i.**

The summer rush of pilgrims ends in September when the wind blows in with a nip in the air.

Like any summer, Yixing prepares the temple rooms for overnight stays, cooks meals in industrial sized pots, and cleans the entire courtyard and all the floors every day. It is a hectic but pleasant time - for every chore Yixing does, he is rewarded with the opportunity to sing mantras with almost a thousand voices over the months, to recite mythos and celebrate Lord Suho with devotees eager to know and learn and offer themselves.

For every second Yixing is alone in the winter months, he compensates by constantly being surrounded by others within the summer.

This year is markedly different. Usually, Minseok or Yifan will come up the mountain to stay with Yixing, while Luhan and Zitao take care of business in town. They will help Yixing with cooking and cleaning and organizing all those who visit and depart. Sometimes they stay for a few days, a few weeks, or simply a few hours, and Yixing wants to make sure he greets each and every face he sees.

Instead of Minseok or Yifan, of course, Yixing has Junmyeon. Two people for a giant temple is perhaps not enough, but they make do, simply because Yixing has practice and Junmyeon is strangely efficient when he wants to be. Then again, everything about Junmyeon is strange.

The pilgrims like him. Junmyeon has a beautiful voice, a lovely face. When he smiles, it is bashful but knowing, aware of his own splendour. Yixing is glad of it. There are days when Junmyeon is moody, closeted. He drinks tea in silence and wanders the temple doing his own share of chores with a far-off look in his eye. Sometimes, he is anxious, irritated, his thoughts clearly getting under his skin and making him snap out. He always comes back to Yixing a little later, soft apology on his tongue and an eagerness to spend time with him.

Junmyeon doesn't talk about where he's from, where he wants to go. Just reminds Yixing often enough how much he likes this mountain, this temple, this town. Even Yixing's friends have improved in Junmyeon's eyes. In return, Minseok and Luhan softly tease Junmyeon, Zitao drowns him in admirable attention, and Yifan transforms into the butt of many Junmyeon's jokes.

For Yixing, Junmyeon reserves only a sweet teasing affection. Yixing likes it - how Junmyeon, even when lost in his own head, will listen to Yixing and poke at Yixing for more afterwards. He is quick to defend Yixing when Luhan's teasing targets him, as if personally offended that anyone would judge Yixing's moral fibre. Yixing just laughs and holds Junmyeon's hand.

As secretive as Junmyeon insists to be about his origins, how he knows what he does, who he _truly_ is, he is still unabashedly open about how he feels. His expressions so easy to read, his words sharp or soft depending on what sort of tease or remark hides behind his teeth.

It’s how they can live together - in a relative peace that is easy to understand, despite the hidden things within the shadows of their gestures, words, movements. Because Junmyeon is easy to read and Yixing  doesn’t judge, doesn’t pry. Yixing has never been the most open of people, simply because no one ever asks, and he has learned to not ask much of others either - has them come to him in their own time, sitting in companionable silence until words begin to spill, secrets and thoughts and all the softer, more fragile things tucked away within people.

Once the fall comes and the last pilgrims begin to head back home, the silence returns to the temple. The statue of Lord Suho seems to relax, become smaller when his main room is empty, only Junmyeon’s voice singing a hymn about rainwater and sweat of labour that drifts through the air with the trails of burning incense left over.

Within the silence, Yixing sits and prays, and wonders when Junmyeon will speak his secrets, if ever.

**ii.**

There are always chores to be done within the temple, especially now that Yixing must clean after the pilgrims and then prepare the temple before the winter hits them.

He awakes in the morning as usual, does not take in the time as he drinks tea while Junmyeon chats with him over rice and eggs, promising he’ll fold all the sheets if Yixing would run them through the washing machine in the basement that Junmyeon utterly loathes trying to figure out to use.

He does so, wandering in and out of rooms, making a list of more chores in his head as he works. By the time the sheets are done, it is pitch black outside and Yixing’s body aches with being up so long, usually something that came with his fits of insomnia, not a normal day of chores.

So he sleeps, wakes again in the morning.

This time he tries to get more done. He wants the pilgrims’ rooms utterly clean by tonight. Meanwhile, Junmyeon works at organizing the altar room and carefully counting up the remaining incense, charms, jewellery, whatever other miscellaneous items that pilgrims loved to make use of and take with them during their visits.

The night comes too quick again. Yixing holds the broom between his hands and wonders why he’s so fatigued, before heading off to bed.

The third morning, Yixing asks: ‘does the day pass you by too quickly?’ Junmyeon pauses in sipping his tea, cocking an eyebrow.

‘Haven’t you been busy?’

‘I have,’ says Yixing, a bit reluctant. He watches Junmyeon, sees the quick way Junmyeon looks down, eyes flickering over his breakfast. Whatever it was, Junmyeon wouldn’t tell - not yet, at least.

Yixing would just keep track of time. He glances at the clock on the stove, then gets up and begins his day. By the time he’s done folding all the sheets, he looks at the clock hanging in the hallway. Then blinks. Fourteen hours had passed.

Looking out the window, the night sky is black, moon waning.

He goes to bed.

In the morning, Junmyeon touches his cheek and gives him a worried look. ‘You don’t seem to be resting.’

‘I have to finish preparing for the winter,’ he says with a soft, strained smile.

‘Take a break.’

‘I can’t,’ says Yixing with a laugh, forced and tired. ‘If I take a break, I won’t be able to do anything tomorrow.’

‘Clearly, you’re doing too much as it is,’ insists Junmyeon.

‘Let me work.’ Gently, Yixing takes Junmyeon’s hand, squeezes it in reassurance. ‘It’ll be over soon.’

Junmyeon seems to want to argue, but Yixing turns away before he can say anything. A cheap tactic, but effective for the moment at least. ‘I’ll have to harvest the vegetables from the garden today before I put it off any longer. Can you wash down the floors on the north wing? All the linens have been stowed away.’

‘Of course,’ says Junmyeon slowly, and leaves it at that.

Out in the garden, Yixing feels like time passes in a blink. One moment, he’s filling his basket while the sunlight kissed the back of his neck so warm even in the autumn chill, the next it’s too dark to see but the silhouette of his hand stretched out in front of him.

He stumbles through the garden, almost blind if it wasn’t for the familiarity of the route, and walks through the front gates, basket held in his arm, when he catches Junmyeon’s voice - loud, pointed. ‘It didn’t work and I need you to stop.’

It’s the only thing Junmyeon says, and Yixing stands in the courtyard, looking up at the balcony on the north wing where he can see Junmyeon looking up into the sky.

For a second, it feels like he sees something personal, intimate, a quiet moment for Junmyeon - not for Yixing to intrude upon.

Then Junmyeon turns away, enters the temple room, and it’s gone. Yixing unloads the food in the kitchen and goes to bed.

He sleeps for a long while, and wakes rested, with the sun just peeking over the mountain ridge in the distance.

At breakfast, Junmyeon serves him breakfast and tea as usual and smiles. ‘Feeling better?’

‘A lot better,’ says Yixing, opening his eyes wide and blinking them. ‘Look at that - wide awake.’

Junmyeon breaks into a laugh - making his face scrunch up, and he softens as he quiets down, seeming more relieved than anything else. ‘I just wanted to make sure you had a good, long rest.’

Yixing teases: ‘are you a time keeper too?’

‘Don’t be blasphemous,’ he replies, but he’s grinning, eyes bright with mirth.

Afterwards, he goes back out to the garden to finish his work. This time the day passes as usual - no missing hours or sudden dusk or too short day. The world seems to shift upon its axis as it always does, at least for Yixing, and he gets everything he wants to do that day finished up.

Before he heads to bed, Junmyeon catches sight of him in the hallway and waves goodnight.  Junmyeon is truly, wonderfully, utterly strange, is Yixing’s last thought before sleep.

**iii.**

‘Tell me about the other Exiled.’

‘Tao and Kris?’ Laughter - lovely, loud. ‘Will you accuse me of blasphemy again?’

‘Only if the story is boring.’

‘Let me think then!’ Yet, there is still smiling, mirth. ‘Kris and Tao are closely tied to Lord Suho, you know. Beloveds of the water. Kris rules over flight - though I suppose he has always been metaphorical. Growth is a better term, isn’t it? The flight of crops reaching upwards to the sky, the flight of children leaving home as adults - that sort of thing.

‘Whatever the case, sometimes, Kris will enter the waters at Lord Suho’s command, and in return, waves will crash upwards, a natural disaster called a tsunami these days. Together, they are a formidable force. With Tao, however, Lord Suho is more gentle. See, Tao is time - he sits on the moon in the night sky and conducts the hours to watch Suho’s oceans play.’

‘Lord Suho plays favourites, does he?’

‘Have you learned nothing yet? Gods can have such feelings. Especially with the younger of the gods. You know this - it’s right in Scripture: Tao being born third last of the Twelve, the youngest ones being Lord Kai and Lord Sehun.’

‘And _you_ should know that the Scripture is rife with tales of Lord Suho and Lord Sehun, but tales of Tao dwindle away after being Exiled.’

A smile, soft. ‘There’s a forgotten tale of Tao - the story of him and his sleep.

‘As the ruler of time, Tao must collect the souls of those that die, and place them back into the threads of the universe to be born again. He watches those who live, watches those who die, and wanders about earth to kiss the old ones asleep and sing the young ones awake.

‘Millenia ago, he walked the earth, in search of the next soul to pluck, when he came upon an old woman. She was wonderfully sweet to him when she invited him inside of her home. Together they drank tea, and Tao listened to all of the tales of her long life.

‘Finally, it came to kiss her goodnight. Tao gently laid the woman to rest amongst her blankets, when she spoke - asked him to lie down next to her, for it was so comfortable, and even gods, even Tao, must rest once in awhile.

‘Tao, generous to begin with and plied with the previous hours of gentle company, acquiesced. He lied down next to her and took her hand. Together, they slept.’

A thoughtful frown. ‘Was she any old woman?’

A shrug, a small laugh. ‘Is anyone simply anyone?’

‘Then you have to give her a name.’

The sound of a tongue clicking, a sound of exasperation. ‘Alright, the old woman’s name was Boxuan.’

‘Boxuan. Go on.’

‘The tragedy of Boxuan is that she was alone in her old age. No one came to wake Tao up. All around, the world grew and grew - wild and huge, with nothing to stop it. There was no ending to time anymore, and so nothing could die, and were trapped in an endless immortality.

‘The Twelve searched for Tao - scouring the universe for a sign -  his song, his laugh, the flash of his eyes and his smile. Finally, Lord Sehun blasted the door of Boxuan’s home down with his wind, and found Tao fast asleep, his hands cradling a small, sleeping baby on his chest.

‘They both woke - both crying, both trying to soothe the other, blindsided by how the world had changed. Holding Beibei close to his chest, Tao finally left the home and saw the universe without cycles, how chaotic and unknown it had become.

 ‘The Twelve realized then - that Tao could not do this alone. And so they all followed his lead, learned to resolve the universe of its immortality, begin the cycles once more. It is why endings can come in so many forms - of Lord Xiumin’s ice, of Lord Suho’s water, of Lord Chanyeol’s fire.’

An interruption: ‘But everything begins again - that’s why it’s a cycle.’

‘Yes, of course.’ A soft sigh. ‘The story is not finished.’

‘Sorry - go ahead.’

‘Once the universe had resumed its cycle, Beibei - the first child born in this new era, raised so lovingly by Tao - had to die once more in her old age. This time Tao did not sleep - for he did not need the rest. Instead, he sat, with her head on his thigh, and kissed her, asked her what she had learned in this life.

‘It is said that it was Beibei’s words whispered it into Tao’s ears that led to Tao’s Exile. After she had died, he fled - vanished into the dark with the others.’

‘But what can scare a god?’

‘The thing that scares all humans. The universe is a cycle,  and before one can be reborn, one must die. And so - Tao waits, resigned to his fate, waiting for when he must kiss his fellow gods goodnight.’

-

  
  
  
  
  
(the fifth trial)  
  
  
  


**december, 1999**

**i.**

It has almost been a year since Junmyeon has come here. In and of itself, it’s a fact that Yixing doesn’t put much thought into - simply justifies the stay as Junmyeon enjoying the atmosphere, the people, the freedom to dedicate himself to something he truly loves.

Yet, when they visit the town at the base of the mountain, Yixing’s friends bring up the long stay like it’s a question. It begins with Luhan peering at him knowingly over the rim of his coffee mug, one eyebrow raised, ‘are you two…’, then leads to Minseok’s wink when he has Junmyeon blustering over some habit Yixing has. Even Yifan does not leave it alone when he tips his head towards Junmyeon and asks, ‘will you leave soon?’, looking at Yixing when Junmyeon lapses into a deep silence. Zitao, on his arrival for winter break from school, is openly surprised at Junmyeon’s continued presence - pestering him for attention, telling Yixing to do the same because who knew when Junmyeon would just vanish one day.

The attention doesn’t escape Junmyeon’s notice - and he thrives under it, adores talking to all he can, finally comfortable in his skin, knows where he fits. He fits here, with Zitao tucked into his side, and Yifan bowing his head under terrible jokes, and Minseok trying to muffle his laughter, and Luhan challenging each statement with his own.

He fits here, when he looks through the chaos at Yixing, and smiles with all his teeth, making Yixing grin back, helplessly happy.

Even so, back in the silence of the temple, Junmyeon can’t help but ask, ‘are they afraid that I will leave suddenly?’

‘A little bit of that,’ admits Yixing as he stretches out on his bed, watching Junmyeon make himself comfortable amongst the pillows beside him. They’ve gone through three rounds of racing and are finished their tea. It’s almost time for Junmyeon to bid him goodnight, but not before conversation - maybe a myth, if Junmyeon feels like it, or just to discuss nothing at all.

‘So what is it?’ Junmyeoon looks over at him, expression softly creased in confusion.

Yixing looks up at the ceiling, rolling the words in his mouth. ‘They’re wondering why you’ve stayed here so long. With me. For almost a year now.’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’ A second later, Junmyeon leans over, looking down at Yixing who lies there. He seems to be waiting, waiting for something.

Looking up at him, Yixing doesn’t have a reply. He just watches - traces his gaze over the handsome planes of Junmyeon’s face - and, finally, nods, tipping his chin upwards. With that, Junmyeon leans down, kisses his mouth softly, reverently.

The kiss is warm, easy - Junmyeon is smiling against Yixing’s mouth, and Yixing can’t help but grin back, teeth clicking as they clumsily adjust position on the bed. Finally, they manage to be on their sides on the bed, facing each other, close enough for teenager-shy kisses, tentative but non-stop, over and over.

It’s undeniable that Junmyeon is beautiful - Yixing has thought so ever since that first morning he saw the other. He remembers the glitter of frost under the sunlight, the glow of Junmyeon’s cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes as he smiled and greeted Yixing, stepping so easily from forest to temple, like he belonged there all along.

He feels the same here - Junmyeon is playful, pleased, humming from the back of his throat every time Yixing kisses back. There are fingers playing with the collar of Yixing’s sleep shirt, sweeping upwards to slide through his hair, and it’s so comfortable, even if Yixing feels rusty.

The kisses go on - for some hypnotizing length of time. Yixing can feel his bottom lip swell with all of Junmyeon’s small nips and bites, and decides he might as well respond, sucks on Junmyeon’s tongue. Immediately, the hands in Yixing’s hair go tight in a grip as Junmyeon moans against Yixing’s mouth, and Yixing gets overwhelmed, pushing away.

‘Ah,’ starts Yixing, devolving into a muffled cough, looking away. He’s not embarassed as much as questioning - trying to parse one touch from another, make something linear to follow, feeling like he’s forgotten it all.

‘I forgot,’ says Junmyeon, his voice soft and apologetic. ‘Temple-keepers don’t usually…’

‘We can marry and have kids,’ says Yixing quickly, his own hands sliding over the soft fabric of Junmyeon’s temple robes. ‘Sex is just… something to do later.’

‘Have you ever slept with anyone?’ From Junmyeon, the question doesn’t sound prying, more curious, wanting to help. Help with sex, supposes Yixing.

Waving a hand through the air in a vague gesture, Yixing shrugs. ‘It’s just been a long time - a really… long time. Seven or eight years?’ Closing his eyes, he can still catch glimpses of what happened, phantom pleasure pricking at his skin. ‘Luhan, first. Then Yifan. Ah - Minseok once too.’

Junmyeon starts laughing, muffling his face in his pillow. He peeks out to look at Yixing. ‘University aged Yixing…?’

Yixing shrugs again, but feels himself relax a little. ‘We’re all close, and back then, sex was new, to try with someone, each other.’

‘Nervous you’re not as good as you once were?’

Elbowing Junmyeon’s side, Yixing laughs at the tease, rolling onto his back to look at the ceiling. ‘Are you even _good_ when you’re nineteen? Twenty?’

‘I don’t remember,’ admits Junmyeon with a small smile, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I barely remember anything from all those years ago.’

‘You’re not _that_ old.’

‘I just don’t look it,’ reassures the other. ‘Let me do this then.’

‘Do what?’ Yixing watches as Junmyeon sits up, smoothing out his temple robes.

‘Take care of you,’ he replies, then pauses, ‘fuck you.’

‘I’m honoured,’ says Yixing dryly, smiling anyway when Junmyeon’s mouth juts out in a pout.

‘Firstly, take all of _this_ off,’ he says, flicking his fingers towards Yixing’s clothes.

Yixing sits up, shedding his sleep shirt without preamble. He doesn’t expect Junmyeon’s face to appear so close to him the moment he pulls the shirt off, but any startled noise is swallowed up when Junmyeon kisses him.

This time, Yixing simply follows, happy to let Junmyeon set the pace. It’s easy to fall back onto the bed, underneath the warm weight of Junmyeon, humming into the kiss whenever Junmyeon nips at his bottom lip where it already feels so sensitive.

Pulling away, Junmyeon’s eyes are dark and soft as they trace over Yixing’s face, the flush he can already feel crawling up his neck. Instead of Yixing’s mouth, Junmyeon nips at Yixing’s jawline, mouthing wetly along the length of his throat. There’s no more shirt to impede Junmyeon, and he takes full advantage - warm hands sweeping down Yixing’s chest, followed by warm kisses, a wet suck to one of his nipples now.

Yixing gasps, exhales, as he feels the pleasure prickle along his skin. Junmyeon hums in reply at the sound, pulling off to thumb the wet nipple with his fingers in small circles. Shivering a little, Yixing can’t help but close his eyes, lifting his hands uselessly in the air before settling along Junmyeon’s back for something to ground him.

More little noises spill out of him when Junmyeon mouths at his other nipple, his hands moving along Yixing’s sides to cup his waist, squeeze when Yixing lets out a rare moan. The touch is ticklish but with Junmyeon laving his torso in kisses and licks, it becomes _hot_ \- feeling Junmyeon’s reactions to Yixing’s body when his mouth is too busy vying for more.

Carefully, Yixing slides his fingers into Junmyeon’s hair, tugging a little. Junmyeon comes up, peers down at him, with his red, wet mouth and dark eyes, and Yixing kisses him - hard now.

Sucking on his tongue has Junmyeon groaning, hips dropping against Yixing’s in a sharp grind, even through layers of clothes. Immediately, Yixing slides his hands from the other’s hair and tugs at the collar of the temple robes, loosening them as his fingers head downwards to the belt.

Junmyeon breaks the kiss quickly, pushing the robes off his shoulders. ‘Let me just - ’

‘Yes, replies Yixing, unwrapping the belt. Together, they work at the layers, peel them off one by one, until Junmyeon’s completely naked, not even shy when Yixing startles at the lack of underwear.

‘We don’t wear underwear where I am from,’ says Junmyeon simply as if that explains anything, and Yixing feels struck. In the midst of this all, he’s forgotten Junmyeon is still full of unsaid things, secrets, a shadowed past - yet Yixing also feels like he _knows_ Junmyeon, and it’s easy to reconcile that at least _this_ Junmyeon cares, will make this feel good, better than good.

Completely naked now, Yixing is free to see the leanness of muscle along Junmyeon’s frame, the lack of imperfections - no scar or burn or anything to tell him Junmyeon’s lived a human life, a life with accidents and risk and pain. It’s unnerving, but Yixing can’t deny that it’s also beautiful as he also traces his fingers along Junmyeon’s body, trying to take in every inch of skin.

The frame of the bed shakes for a moment, and they both look up - notice the rain pattering against the window of Yixing’s room. Yixing is ready to get back to undressing when another rumble of thunder lets loose vibrations through the temple, and Junmyeon starts laughing.

‘Junmyeon,’ says Yixing, half question, half exasperation, and Junmyeon looks back at him, apologizing with a kiss, cupping Yixing’s cheek in one hand and pushing his weight forward so Yixing has no choice but to fall back onto the bed.

Now that Yixing is aware of it, he can hear it - the sound of rain against the glass, the distant rumble of thunder, the rustle of clothes against the bed, the half-gasps and moans escaping his own mouth as Junmyeon works his way down Yixing’s body again.

He closes his eyes, tries to pull his nerves together, even as the heat of Junmyeon’s fingers play over his hips above his waistband. ‘May I?’ asks Junmyeon.

‘Yeah,’ exhales Yixing, lifting his hips, feeling his shorts and pajama pants slide off smoothly.

Junmyeon makes a noise, making Yixing open his eyes and look down were Junmyeon is straddling his knees. Noticing, Junmyeon smiles at him. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

Yixing laughs a little in surprise, pleased embarrassment making the tips of his ears burn. ‘I’m alright - _you’re_ gorgeous.’ Can’t help but gesture at Junmyeon’s face, the lean softness of his pale body.

‘Am I?’ asks Junmyeon, eyebrows raised, mouth in a sly grin. He crawls over to hover above Yixing, ‘could you go into detail?’

Fondness fills Yixing, warming him up inside out as he looks up into Junmyeon’s face, something so easy and familiar and _comfortable_ at being here with him, even if they’re both naked. ‘Lie down.’

Junmyeon goes easily - stretching himself out over Yixing’s bed, basking in his own nudity. Yixing traces along the softness of Junmyeon’s stomach, feeling the muscle underneath, before bending down to kiss the jut of Junmyeon’s hip.

With Junmyeon’s cock bobbing next to his face, Yixing supposes he should pay some attention to it. Dropping kisses from hip to pelvis, he pulls back to lick over the crown of the cock, earning a sharp gasp.

It’s been so long, thinks Yixing, and then decides he doesn’t care - sex didn’t have to be perfect, just good, and he’s sure Junmyeon will think Yixing swallowing down half his dick feels _great_. It takes a moment for Yixing to adjust to the warm weight on his tongue before he licks at the skin properly, getting it all wet.

Above him, Junmyeon moans softly from the back of his throat, hands moving from clutching the bedsheet to petting Yixing’s hair, over and over, a soothing pattern.

Yixing goes slow, drags it out. He sucks and pops his mouth off the crown with a wet sound, watching Junmyeon’s dick bob flushed and hard in the light. Before he goes down again, Junmyeon tugs at his hair, manages a rough-sounding: ‘go slow, I want to watch.’

Flicking his gaze up from under his lashes, Yixing can see the pink dusting Junmyeon’s cheekbones, his heady dark gaze from under his short lashes. He hums in reply, languidly tonguing the cockhead before dragging his lips over the length in agonizing slowness.

Junmyeon hisses, stomach and thighs flexing to keep still, as Yixing goes down down _down_ his cock, fitting it all inside and down his throat after a few tries. Nose pressed against Junmyeon’s pelvis and Yixing can smell the scent of his skin, some combination of the temple soap, lingering incense, and petrichor.

It seems natural for Junmyeon to smell like the rain, the aftermath of it - how it still lingers in the air, even after the clouds are gone. How he will linger in this temple, in _Yixing_ , after he eventually leaves. The thought has Yixing suddenly feel rushed - pulling off Junmyeon’s cock and licking hot and wet down the shaft to his sac.

‘Fuck - _fuck_ \- ’ chokes out Junmyeon as Yixing mouths over his balls, taking them into his mouth to suck on. ‘Yixing - _Yixing_.’

Junmyeon is clearly trying to get his attention, but Yixing has to do this - has to get this right. He starts jerking Junmyeon’s cock with his hand, mouth still occupied with the sensitive skin on his balls. Immediately, Junmyeon’s hips buck, and Yixing pulls away in surprise, taking in the sight of Junmyeon arching his spine as he fucks into Yixing’s fist.

‘I want to make you come,’ says Yixing matter-of-factly.

‘Yes,’ he hisses, eyes slitted in pleasure as his body undulates along the rhythm of Yixing jerking him off. ‘Do it.’

He will, he will. Yixing flattens his palms against Junmyeon’s hips to pin him still, before sucking on his cock again, this time ready for it to slide along his tongue, the roof of his mouth, before the crown is down his throat, and he could gag on this dick if he let Junmyeon move.

Cheeks hollowing out, Yixing sucks and bobs his head, tries to find that familiar beat he had way back when, a time where sex was new and so, so easy to fall into. It’s easy again - even now - because Junmyeon, even as he moans and gasps Yixing’s name in broken syllables, is still so patient, still reigns himself to go along with Yixing’s pace.

That fondness floods his chest again, makes him suck Junmyeon’s dick harder, faster. ‘Fuck, like that,’ manages Junmyeon, his fingers petting Yixing’s hair until it's all mussed if only to distract himself from fucking his hips up. Grateful, Yixing bobs over the crown of Junmyeon’s cock, tonguing at the obvious ridge under the head, enough for Junmyeon to hiss.

Pulling off, Yixing drags his mouth wet and slow down the length, listening to the slow exhale of the other. He’s indulgent like this - long, slow licks with the flat of his tongue, everything so sloppy when his saliva slinks downwards to tickle at Junmyeon’s balls. He uses his hands too - has one playing with the sac, the other jerking Junmyeon off as Yixing hums low while kissing the root of his dick.

‘Been a long time?’ groans out Junmyeon, spine in a gorgeous arc as his hips tremble to stay on the bed. ‘I’m close - fuck, I’m close.’

‘Muscle memory,’ says Yixing, cheeky, and Junmyeon’s reply is lost in a throaty moan when Yixing purposefully sucks hard around the cockhead. He’s jerking Junmyeon steadily, fist tight, and it’s clearly just perfect for him, because Junmyeon’s fingers slide from Yixing’s hair, scrabble at his shoulders in desperation as his orgasm nears.

‘How?’ asks Yixing - not intentionally vague, but his mouth is dry now as he takes in the sight of Junmyeon lost to pleasure. His dark hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, mussed along the pillow, and his body - soft and lean - spreads itself out in a long line ending at the pretty arc of his pink cock, gleaming wet and hard, so so ready to come all over himself.

‘I don’t care - fuck - your mouth, all over me, don’t care, _Yixing_ ,’ says Junmyeon, words slurring into moans. Yixing doesn’t care either, decides Junmyeon deserves the best anyway, and leans down to deep throat Junmyeon’s cock, feeling the heavy weight press up against his throat and swallowing around it.

The grip on his shoulders tighten, Junmyeon’s short nails digging sharp into the skin, and Yixing sucks as best he can with a cock stuffed down his throat. With hands holding open Junmyeon’s thighs, Yixing can feel the tremble of the muscle, how it tenses, and Junmyeon’s, ‘fuck, fuck - Yixing - fuck - ’

Yixing is as ready as he’ll ever be when Junmyeon comes, his hands keeping Junmyeon’s thighs on the bed as he swallows around the crown of the cock in his mouth. The come floods his mouth, has him swallowing, and he pulls halfway up to lap at the head with each pulse.

He doesn’t manage a real taste of it until Junmyeon is shivering back into the sheets and Yixing is cupping a softening cock in his palm as he licks around the head with a delicate, kittenish tongue.

Above, Junmyeon shifts, pushing himself to sit up, humming as Yixing keeps lapping at the last drops of come clinging to the slit of Junmyeon’s cock. ‘Come here,’ murmurs Junmyeon, voice low, hoarse, and Yixing goes, pulling away to look up, meet Junmyeon’s mouth in a kiss.

Junmyeon doesn’t seem to care about the filthiness, seems to press his tongue deeper into Yixing’s mouth if anything. Yixing rolls over easily under Junmyeon’s manhandling - settles against the pillows as he keeps kissing Junmyeon now hovering above him. It’s only then that some semblance of awareness filters through - he can feel his own cock heavy and hard against his thigh, waiting for relief.

‘Your turn,’ says Junmyeon, pulling away with a grin, something sly hidden at the corners. Yixing only laughs softly, his throat still raw, and only keeps sweeping his hands over Junmyeon’s naked body - basking how lovely it is, unlike Yixing’s own frame.

Yixing’s always had muscle - the temple is not low on manual labour to do - and so Junmyeon’s softness is new, to be savoured, with touch and kisses and worshipful eyes. Junmyeon preens under the attention, soft hitched breaths when Yixing’s fingers trace over his nipples and near his hips, mouth kissing along the collarbone down to sternum.

‘Stop - I said, your turn,’ laughs Junmyeon, pushing Yixing back down against the sheets. ‘Don’t you need to get off?’

‘I don’t mind,’ replies Yixing honestly, feeling lazy with lust, pleased at seeing Junmyeon undone and coming and basking in a job well done. ‘I’d rather see you come again - it’s beautiful.’

‘Ridiculous,’ says Junmyeon, clicking his tongue, and gets off the bed to rifle through the robes they tossed to the floor.

‘Can’t get me off on your own?’ asks Yixing, teasing.

Junmyeon scoffs. ‘As if.’ He returns to the bed, straddling Yixing’s waist, holding a small tube, yet unopened, in front of Yixing. ‘Luhan gave me this - for sex, apparently.’

Yixing stares at the lube for a second, how gingerly Junmyeon holds it between his fingers, before he bursts into laughter, trying to muffled it behind his hands.

‘Yixing.’ Junmyeon slaps his stomach to get his attention, rolling his eyes. ‘I know what it _does_.’

‘Really?’ Lowering his hands, Yixing looks up at him. ‘You’re holding it like it’s dangerous.’

‘It’s - I’m - ’ Flustered, Junmyeon switches his hold, grasps the tube in his fist. ‘Would you like to…?’

‘Prepare myself?’ he asks, tone haughty to imitate Junmyeon.

Junmyeon isn’t pleased, opening the lube himself. ‘I’ll do it myself then.’

Yixing is still giggling, watching as Junmyeon slick up two fingers. He’s ready to spread his legs when Junmyeon reaches back, but nothing touches him. Instead, he’s surprised at the small gasp that Junmyeon lets out, clearly fingering himself. A rush of heat bolts through Yixing’s spine at the sight - Junmyeon’s eyes half-lidded in focus and want as he uses his own short fingers to open his hole.

‘Let me,’ exhales Yixing. ‘Your hand is small.’

‘This isn’t my first time,’ gripes Junmyeon, but lets himself be splayed chest-first onto the bed, hips propped up by a pillow as Yixing kneels between his open thighs. The lube now in Yixing’s possession means he can slip a finger easily into Junmyeon’s ass, so warm and soft.

He fingers Junmyeon with just as much slowness that he sucked his cock. Junmyeon shifts and sighs and says, ‘ _Yixing_ ,’ with a breathless command every time he wants another finger. Yixing considers drawing it out, but Junmyeon’s hips are moving on their own rhythm, fingerfucking himself open, using Yixing’s fingers to the very end.

‘Stop, stop - ’ says Junmyeon, voice guttural. ‘Yixing.’

Yixing pulls away, kissing the small of Junmyeon’s back, before lying down on the bed next to Junmyeon. ‘What now?’

‘Don’t ask that,’ say Junmyeon, a little incredulous, as he clambers over Yixing, ass sliding back to feel the heat of Yixing’s cock against his ass. Junmyeon himself is half-hard again, and Yixing wants to  laugh a little.

‘That eager?’ says Yixing, gesturing to Junmyeon’s dick, and Junmyeon doesn’t even flush - instead, tosses his head back with a flash of a grin.

‘Can you keep up?’

Yixing laughs, hands on Junmyeon’s hips to steady him, a soft exhale when Junmyeon cups his cock and drags the head along his wet, open hole. ‘Ah - Junmyeon…’ The crown catches along the rim, pops past, and Yixing shivers, eyes closing.

Again, he sinks back into the world of sound, sensation. No longer occupied with Junmyeon’s body, taking him apart with mouth or fingers, he can hear his own breath, the patter of rain against the window pane, how the sheets shift under their skin, the choked groan when Junmyeon finally sinks down on Yixing’s cock.

It’s a surprisingly smooth slide, all the way down, until Yixing feels his entire cock inside of Junmyeon, the heat and wetness of the lube, how Junmyeon tightens and relaxes with each shift of his hips while he adjusts.

‘Going to - ah - ride you,’ announces Junmyeon, his voice breathless. He steadies his hands on either side of Yixing’s head, arched over him all gorgeous in a sheen of sweat, his pallor almost glowing in the light of the room.

‘Let me,’ murmurs Yixing, watching the flutter of Junmyeon’s eyelashes, how they’re damp with sweat. He holds onto the soft curve of Junmyeon’s waist, pulls him up bit by bit until halfway, and lets him slide down over Yixing’s dick - a slow, smooth rhythm.

‘I had forgotten,’ laughs Junmyeon under his breath, ‘how good it feels - to be full.’ He clenches around the weight of Yixing’s cock inside him, and Yixing gasps, feels his hips stutter. ‘Like this - fuck. It hasn’t even been _long_ , but until you slid inside - ’

‘You’re rambling,’ says Yixing, helping Junmyeon’s hips move in a slow grind over his dick. ‘What is it?’

Junmyeon closes his eyes, head tipped back, as he lifts himself up and drops back down sharply, a groan punched out of him. ‘I’ve wanted this - so let me take it.’

‘Oh,’ says Yixing, drawing his hands away from Junmyeon’s hips, understanding now.

‘Yeah,’ he replies with a smile. ‘Don’t worry.’

With that, Junmyeon rides Yixing _properly_. Yixing can’t help the noises that escape him - small hiccups of pleasure with each sharp ride downwards, Junmyeon’s ass taking his cock with ease. Above him, Junmyeon looks beautiful, debauched, a flush over his skin as he works his hips, at ease with this just as he is with singing, with storytelling, with all that he does.

That’s the beauty of Junmyeon - his sincerity to all that he does, even sex. Even like this - fucking himself open on Yixing’s cock, his eyes glazed over with lust, as he makes sure Yixing feels as wonderful as possible, using himself to give Yixing all that he can.

It’s enough - _too much_ \- and Yixing is grabbing at the pillow above his head as he keens, letting himself be ridden with this quick, hard rhythm that Junmyeon doesn’t seem intent on stopping in the least. ‘Junmyeon - Junmyeon - ’

‘Already?’ teases Junmyeon, but his voice is wrecked, and he just fucks himself harder - drawing hips up to the tip and slamming back down, the lewd sound of his ass slapping on Yixing’s thighs echoing. One of them is in time with a roll of thunder, and Yixing feels the frame of the bed shake, thinks yes, he’s being electrified inside out by how good Junmyeon uses him up like this.

Another roll of thunder rattles through the temple, and Junmyeon moans out loud, a filthy, pretty sound. Yixing tries to keep his eyes open as Junmyeon rides his cock, glimpsing his hardness when Junmyeon lifts himself up, feeling how his balls rock upwards to slap against Junmyeon’s ass whenever Junmyeon drops down. It’s obscene and hot and Yixing can’t look for long, eyeing Junmyeon’s own cock instead.

With each desperate fuck over Yixing’s dick, Junmyeon’s own cock slaps against his belly, drippng precome in long strings from how hard he is. Yixing lets go of the pillow and reaches out, smearing his fingers clumsily over the crown, too slick to get a proper grip.

Nevertheless, Junmyeon keens, ‘I’ll come, I’ll come,’ as if he can’t feel just how hard and hot Yixing is, from being taken into Junmyeon’s ass over and over again.

‘Yes,’ says Yixing, wanting it. He takes a hold over the length, stroking in counterpoint to Junmyeon’s hips. The reaction is so beautiful - Junmyeon shivering, his ass tightening gloriously over Yixing’s cock, dragging out the friction that much more.

Seeing Junmyeon like this, all Yixing can think of is how he can give Junmyeon even more of what he wants. ‘Hold on,’ he says, and Junmyeon blinks back the haze of lust enough to seem a touch confused, mouth open to ask.

Instead, all that comes out is a pitched moan when Yixing rolls his hips to Junmyeon’s rhythm and fucks him just that much harder, deeper. Junmyeon scrabbles again for a grip along the sheets, his breath punched out of him as his ass meets Yixing’s thighs midway for each thrust.

‘I won’t last - oh fuck - not like this - ’ chokes out Junmyeon, breaths coming out in puffs, as he rocks himself back onto Yixing’s cock.

‘And I will?’ says Yixing, breathless and laughing, as Junmyeon takes and takes and _takes_ \- his body a sinuous wave of pleasure while Yixing fucks him and Junmyeon fucks him right back.

‘Get me off then,’ demands Junmyeon, grinning right back even when it’s lost a second later, his eyes fluttering shut when Yixing strokes his cock, matching this new rhythm.

After that it’s a rush to the end - Yixing trying to keep above the flood of pleasure because he wants to do this right, wants to make sure Junmyeon is fucked as he deserves, right till he comes. Junmyeon is doing better than Yixing, but he’s still flushed, still rolling his body to every sensation - his cock, his ass, every fuck following the lead of his hips, trying to keep up with the smooth swivel of Yixing’s own.

Junmyeon’s cock leaks precome with each stroke now, hard in Yixing’s hand, and Junmyeon is making lovely noises - pretty gasps around Yixing’s name - that tells Yixing how close he is. It doesn’t take long - Yixing’s thighs are burning but he keeps fucking up into Junmyeon’s ass for the last few moments he can, and Junmyeon keens, ‘oh _fuck_ \- Yixing - fuck - ’ before he’s spilling his come all over Yixing’s fingers and stomach.

Yixing manages to fuck the rest of Junmyeon’s orgasm out of him before his legs give out, collapsing back onto the bed. Junmyeon doesn’t seem to notice, moaning softly as he lets his ass milk Yixing’s cock still so hard and hot inside of him. Outside, the thunder shakes through the temple and the flash of lightning almost blinds Yixing. He looks at Junmyeon instead, at the lazy, pleased expression on his face.

‘I’m close,’ mumbles Yixing, and he can feel it, the pulse of orgasm right at the base of his spine. Junmyeon nods, licking his lips, before he purposefully starts milking Yixing’s ass by tightening his ass over and over.

Letting out a strangled noise, Yixing scrabbles for a grip on Junmyeon’s thighs, ramps his hips up, and fucks deep, hard, _good_ right into Junmyeon, pace frantic. In half a dozen thrusts, Yixing comes hard, and Junmyeon moans softly as he feels Yixing pump him full.

They waver there - on the line between arousal and satiation - watching one another, until Yixing feels his cock go soft, and Junmyeon is shifting his hips while come slides out of his ass.

Finally, Junmyeon simply tips forward, boneless, and lands on Yixing in a thump, sweat and pleased if the smile on his face is anything to go by. Yixing can’t help but smile back, brushing Junmyeon’s hair out of his eyes, unwilling to push the comfortable, warm weight of the body on top of him.

It’s sweaty and sticky and messy, yet Junmyeon doesn’t seem to care as he pulls a blanket overtop them both. If Junmyeon won’t move, then Yixing won’t even try, simply feeling himself be cuddled closer, forehead almost touching the other’s as they face each other on their sides.

‘Good?’ hums Junmyeon with a smile.

‘Yes,’ replies Yixing, thinking he could sink into the bed with how good and satisfied he feels right now. He reaches over and curls his hand over Junmyeon’s, tangling their fingers together. ‘You?’

Junmyeon stretches a little, mock-preening, his grin smug. ‘I think I did well.’

Yixing rolls his eyes, and feels Junmyeon squeeze his fingers. ‘So this is why you stayed for so long.’

‘You’re easy,’ says Junmyeon, his expression softening. ‘Easy to love.’

He doesn’t know what to say that, only remains silent, like they’re on a cusp of something - something _more_.

‘You’re so good, so pure, so warm,’ murmurs Junmyeon, voice so quiet. ‘It’s so easy to love someone like you.’

‘You’re beautiful,’ says Yixing impulsively, doesn’t want to be the only one praised. ‘And talented and ridiculous and intelligent.’

Junmyeon presses a finger to Yixing’s lips, silencing him. His eyes are softened with sadness now, smile more wry and bitter than before. ‘And a liar.’

Yixing looks back at him, but doesn’t reply. Junmyeon has always been a mystery and Yixing wouldn’t be surprised that Junmyeon has made up half-truths to evade any prying into himself that isn’t immediately known.

What he perhaps forgot was the gravity of Junmyeon’s shadowed identity. That he could be anyone, from anywhere, and do anything he liked. That even like this - so close, bodies touching and mouths just within reach of each other, Yixing doesn’t _know_ Junmyeon.

‘But I will tell you,’ says Junmyeon after a long pause. He nods, to himself, and smiles at Yixing. ‘Right now, rest, and then - I will tell you everything.’

‘Then that’s enough,’ replies Yixing, holding their fingers together. Junmyeon closes his eyes, and Yixing does the same. It’s so easy to sleep with someone to hold.

**ii.**

Yixing wakes only an hour later to a sound of cracking, then crashing, the slam of whatever it was vibrating through the wood frame of the entire temple harder than any roll of thunder - as if some bone in the temple body had splintered and broken in half.

Beside him, Junmyeon sits up, eyes wide. ‘What - ’

‘I don’t know,’ says Yixing, pushing himself out of bed and grabbing the heavy outer lining of a temple robe from his closet. Behind him, Junmyeon loosely tied a sash around the waist of his own robes hastily put on.

More cracking echoes out and Yixing slides open the door of his room, stepping onto the veranda to look outside. The storm outside was still raging - rain coming down hard, the wind screaming through the air, and the flash of lightning that accompanied each roll of thunder.

Yixing pushes past the initial gust of wind and starts down the veranda to the main temple. He looks up, peering through the dark only occasionally lit up by the lightning, and can’t help the cry that escapes him when he finally sees the damage. Half of the main temple roof had caved in, red fire flickering over the edges of the opening, and smoke rising into the air. The rain was keeping the fire tamed, but not for long.

He can hear Junmyeon’s footsteps behind him but that didn’t matter. Right now, some lightning bolt had fried the main beam of the roof above Lord Suho’s temple room, causing it to collapse along with half the roof, and Yixing can’t even imagine what it must look like inside.

At the main temple doors, Yixing can feel how cold his bare feet are, the wetness of the rain sliding over his skin, freezing him to the bone, but he shrugs it off, doesn’t _care_ \- all that matters is that everything is safe, that everything was going to be okay.

He swings the doors open, rushing inside, into the open hall where he kneels and prays and looks upon the statue of Lord Suho raised upon his dais.

Except the beam had come down at an angle, knocking the statue on its side and off the dais completely. There are cracks in the stone, a finger snapped clean off the hand, and more damage that Yixing can bear to look at right now.

Instead, he looks around the room to find the fire. It’s near the top, where the beam split, but there’s charred and burning debris all over the hardwood floor, small fires that would spread through the temple if not dealt with immediately.

Yixing is ready to move into action - grab the fire extinguisher in the janitor’s closet to the side, hope the rain kept coming down to keep the fire controlled - when he jerks to a stop, eyes landing on the figure standing there in the middle of the room, with their back to Yixing.

The figure isn’t tall, isn’t worth noting amidst all that was happening around them. They just stand in front of the dais, gazing at the emptiness where the statue of Lord Suho used to be before being knocked over by the wooden beam.

‘Who are you?’ calls out Yixing, confused, panicked, considers the person a thief but thinks better of it - this was a temple, it wasn’t as if Yixing really kept the main hall locked to forbid visitors, even in the dead of winter.

Finally, the stranger turns, looking at Yixing, and Yixing can see temple robes over the form, how perfectly arranged the layers of silk are, in an older style, but the same style Junmyeon folded his own.

Junmyeon. Yixing jerks to look over his shoulder where he was sure Junmyeon was following, and Junmyeon is right there, two steps away, his eyes wide as he stares at the stranger.

‘Chen,’ he says, voice loud enough over the cacophony of the storm that is only a little muffled within the temple hall.

‘Chen?’ blurts Yixing incredulously, looking over at the stranger, sees his fine features - sharp cheekbones and a sensual mouth curled at the corners, eyes flat and dark as he looks over them both.

‘Lord Suho,’ croons the stranger - _Chen_ \- and takes a step towards them both, the lightning flashing blindingly bright at the same time.

The panic coursing through Yixing’s veins is too real for this to be some dream. He steps away, looks between Chen and Junmyeon.

Junmyeon is bedraggled of course, hair mussed, his temple robes of light blue threatening to fall open, expose his collarbone, his shoulders. In contrast, Chen is immaculately dressed in a lustrous grey, the material of the silk giving it an opulent, metallic sheen, the lining and embroidery along the hems in silver. Even if he’s short, when Yixing sees him framed by the destruction of the temple hall, it’s easy to find Chen intimidating.

‘Yixing,’ says Junmyeon suddenly, loudly, looking at him. ‘Yixing, leave, now.’

‘I can’t _leave_ \- ’ starts Yixing, but is cut off.

‘You can’t,’ says Chen, sweeping his eyes from Junmyeon to him now, gaze dark and intent. ‘You’ll stay right here.’

He can’t do that. ‘The temple is on fire,’ Yixing replies. ‘I need you both to exit so I can extinguish it.’

‘The _fire_?’ Chen looks like he’s going to laugh - eyebrows raised and mouth twitching. ‘Suho can take care of the fire.’

Yixing glances at Junmyeon, and Junmyeon looks upset but obeisant - pulling up one of his sleeves and swinging his bare arm through the air, palm directed upwards towards the storming sky. As if this entire situation wasn’t unreal enough, Yixing watches as the raindrops coming down from the hole in the roof coalesce into a smooth orb of water, that then levitates over some of the burning debris and splashes onto it - immediately dousing the fire.

The thunder groans through the air again, vibrations shaking the foundations. Chen’s mouth is pressed tight, watching without blinking as Junmyeon does this over and over again, cementing into Yixing’s retinas that this couldn’t possibly be an illusion.

No - here, _here_ , was Junmyeon with his ability to control water, extinguishing the fire alone.

‘You’re not - ’ starts Yixing, but doesn’t know where to go from there. Normal? Human?

‘Thank you,’ says Chen once the fire is gone. Junmyeon looks away, dropping his sleeve so his arm is hidden again.

‘I can do as I like,’ says Junmyeon, softly. ‘But if we must speak - take away all of this so we can do so peacefully.’

‘Of course.’ Chen smiles, cold and insincere, before tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

Yixing looks up, can see the clouds growing thinner each second, hear the rain petering out, as the rolls of thunder grow distant and the lightning seems to have left entirely. In only a minute, the storm is gone - erased from the sky, leaving only the dark night, its canvas of stars, a slice of the moon.

Disbelief is stuck in his throat, even if he knows _somehow_ \- by _instinct_ \- exactly who Chen and Junmyeon are. If the Scripture wrote about the gods visiting the mortals’ realms millenia ago, there was no way to claim they couldn’t do it now, in this year, even if it wasn’t recorded.

Hastily, Yixing gains control of his limbs from the shock, and bows low, going onto his knees. ‘Lord Chen, Lord Suho.’

Chen opens his eyes and finally looks down at him - the storm that was now gone from the sky appearing in his eyes now, glittering and intense. ‘Temple-keeper Yixing,’ he greets, voice low. ‘At least you have manners.’

‘Chen,’ starts Junmyeon - _Suho_ \- stepping towards him. ‘He’s a mortal - and _mine_.’

‘If I fucked one of my own worshippers, would that discount the fact that I fucked a mortal for any of the other Twelve?’ asks Chen, sneering.

‘I know I haven’t been back in the upper realms lately,’ says Suho with a sigh. ‘There’s no need to take out your frustration on a human.’

‘Lately?’ snaps the other. ‘It has been close to a _century_ of your absence.’

‘I have been travelling the mortal realm - ’

‘Apparently fucking across the mortal realm! Abandoning your station for - for _this_?’

Yixing peeks up through his lashes, takes in both of them - the same height, no, Chen was a breath taller, and the same dark hair, but where Junmyeon was soft and handsome, Chen was sharp and pretty.

Scouring his head, he tries to pull up everything he knows about Lord Chen - but nothing in Scripture ever truly got into detail with him. He was the god of thunder and lightning, a frequent background companion to Lord Suho in myths, and enjoyed mischief and song.

Standing before him, there is nothing mischievous or approachable in Lord Chen now. There’s anger crackling around him, frustration in the bite of his voice when he speaks to Suho. Yixing realizes this isn’t about him at all - not really. Mortals aren’t truly important in the matters of the universe, of the world, of _gods_. Especially not to the leader of _all_ Twelve, and his closest companion.

‘You will _not_ touch him,’ says Suho - the quality of his tone changing, dropping, becoming authoritative. ‘I’m still a god.’

It at least makes Chen pause when he turns to look at Yixing. He glances at Suho - ‘are you going to fight me?’

Suho clenches his jaw. ‘Will you make me?’

‘Return to the upper realms with me and I won’t kill your precious mortal.’

‘As if you haven’t had your mortal flings - !’

‘Not at the cost of my position!’

Suho recoils. ‘I can’t return - not yet.’

‘You have to.’ Chen is softer now, the crackle of anger surrounding him sinking back into his skin, controlled. ‘You’re Lord Suho. You have no choice.’

The silence stretches between them, long enough for Yixing to raise his head, look upon them fully. Even if he lived for a thousand years, there is something intangible about the relations between gods that a mortal could never understand. It lingers here - caught between Chen’s flat, dark eyes and the upset curl of Suho’s lips. A history of action and consequence, stretching till the beginning of time.

‘If I go, you’ll kill him,’ says Suho finally. He doesn’t look at Yixing, but Yixing can’t blame him. It’s hard to tear his own gaze away from Chen’s intensity as well. ‘I won’t have that.’

‘I’ll be merciful,’ replies Chen, looking at Yixing now, meeting his gaze, so heavy and intense that Yixing can’t breathe for a moment. ‘But you must understand - especially as one who studies the Scripture.’

Suho looks away, back towards Yixing and Chen both. ‘Is this how we will be known?’

‘We’ve always been known as this,’ replies Chen, one hand sliding up the sleeve of his robe. His skin is a tone darker than Suho’s pallor, but so smooth, untouched, no evidence of the rigors of life. That should’ve tipped Yixing off, made him at least _suspect_ , instead of simply _trusting_. ‘A mortal must not interfere in the affairs of the gods - else there has always been consequence.’

‘Will you transform me?’ asks Yixing, thinking upon fables - of Lord Chanyeol immortalizing favoured mortals into volcanoes, Lord Kyungsoo cracking apart mountains, of Lord Sehun creating mortals into birds, Lord Baekhyun carving out multi-faceted crystals. All mortals must pay for their interaction with the gods - whether good or bad. Yixing would never be any different.

‘No, I will mark you.’ Chen extends his arm, places the tips of his fingers along the skin of Yixing’s forehead. ‘I will show the world that you took what was mine.’

Ah, realizes Yixing, it’s true - the one who loves Suho the most has always been Chen. His closest companion, his ever faithful partner, one who follows Suho’s rain, brings his thunder and lightning to play. So that's who Suho meant all those months ago - Lord Chen, the god-husband.

‘A thousand years from now, they will speak of you,’ Chen says softly, but his eyes are black and unreadable. ‘You will be immortalized in history - the mortal who found Lord Suho wandering the mortal realm, who got in between him and his most precious god. They will say your name and remember you with fondness and pity, and use you as a lesson for all those yet to be born. But now… now, you will know nothing but pain.’

Suho turns around, his mouth open as if to say something, but it’s too late - Yixing can only scream as the god of lightning burns him alive.

**iii.**

‘I’ve told - I’ve told Minseok and Yifan - to come up after I’m gone, I - I must leave, but to leave you… in this condition…’ A hitch in breath, a soft noise. ‘No, don’t speak - not when it hurts so much, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Yixing, _Yixing_ , I’m - ’

A muffled groan. ‘Why?’

‘I - why? Why…?’ The silence stretches, suffocates. ‘The gods - they’re not as they were. I think - I think they sense it. An end. Our end. We’ve ended before - you’ve read the Scriptures, over and over how we’ve died and come again. But this life - it has been the longest yet. And we have forgotten, forgotten how to die.

‘I have forgotten it too. I - their leader, their truth-teller, their wisdom-keeper - am lacking. So I fled, to look for an answer. Fled onto the mortal realm to see how everything lives and how it all dies. It has been years - oh - _decades_ , and I kept hidden. I didn’t want them to find me - no, that’s not right - I - Chen. I didn’t want… didn’t want Chen to find me.

‘You understand the plight of best friends, don’t you? I see you and Luhan, Yifan… Do you ever hide from them in this mountain? Those moments where you can only speak to those who can’t see through you as they do… It’s why Chen is so angry with me; why he hurt _you_ like this. He knows I’ve been in contact with the other gods, engaging them in play for their powers… Dyo and Tao and others…’

The wave of words crash, take time to recede.

‘You… Yixing… _You_ … A mortal like you… In this century I have walked along this realm, it’s you, _you_ , that I can’t leave, can’t escape… I concocted trials for you, to test your mettle, your spiritual worth, as a god like me is known to do… and _oh_ , how you’ve shined, been more than enough - Yixing…

‘When I kissed you, touched you, I was so happy, I brought down the rain. I couldn’t help it - I was celebrating, being able to have someone as blessed as you, and that is how I’ve also ruined you… Where there is rain, is there not always thunder? Lightning? And now look at this - I rejoiced too much in this life and now you’re _hurt_ , because of _me_ , my foolishness…

‘All I tell you is how mortal we are, our kind, us gods… How we are easily overcome with our own emotion, taking to irreparable damage, nursing wounds for lifetimes… I had forgotten there are mortals like you - so warm, practical, generous, loving, and now look what I’ve done.’

A rustle of cloth, of footsteps on hardwood, of rain on a window pane.

‘You will be remembered, Yixing, but not like this. Never like this.’

-

  
  
  
  
  
(the sixth trial)  
  
  
  


**january, 2000**

**i.**

Luhan cries when he drives Yixing down to the doctor in town.

He doesn’t leave until the doctor tells him that Yixing will live, but he needs to stay here, stay under supervision until the milder burns at least start to heal. Yixing sleeps for most of it, waking up to glimpses of Luhan, Minseok, Yifan - either alone or together, keeping vigil over Yixing with a fierce intensity.

Yixing heals, if slowly, and wonders if he can even explain what has happened. Luhan only knows that Suho had come into town to tell Minseok, and Yifan later, that they were needed at the temple and seemingly disappeared entirely when they both tried to look for him and ask questions.

Minseok brought Luhan and drove up, both of them finding Yixing unconscious and horrifically burned. They suggested Yixing had burned himself trying to salvage the temple room that had caved in and had clear charring around. Ultimately, emergency care was the only thought on their mind, and Suho was forgotten as the days passed, edging from November to December.

It takes a week and a half before Yixing has some narrative gathered in his head, asking Yifan to bring the other two, for them to sit at his bedside together and listen.

Of course he’s worried that it is too fantastical to even imagine, much less believe, that he was a target of a divine being, that Suho had been so patient with him, tolerated him, even _loved_ him for an entire year, enough to amuse himself with Yixing through trials reserved for holy ones and saints.

Yet, they listen. They listen, even as Yixing goes on tangents and cuts himself off, tries to rearrange the order of things, argues for Junmyeon’s uncanny presence as evidence of Lord Suho’s divine nature, and tries to make this entire tale as palatable as possible for a mind other than his.

Afterwards, Luhan takes his hand carefully, and says, ‘I don’t want you to go back.’

Immediately, Yixing recoils at the thought - the temple, Lord Suho, his room; he can’t leave his _home_ \- but the pain in his body is visceral, erases any doubt that he would be able to return soon anyway.

Minseok notices, of course, and turns to Luhan. ‘Let’s discuss it when Xing-ah can move.’

Yifan’s eyes are sad as he reaches over to run his fingers through Yixing’s hair. ‘I know you loved him.’

‘It’s okay,’ murmurs Yixing. ‘It hurts too much to feel that pain anyway.’

They all know he’s lying, but they don’t say different, and maybe for that most of all, Yixing is thankful.

**ii.**

Three weeks later and Yixing is told his second-degree burns have at least mostly healed. Only the third-degree ones would cause him problems and - unfortunately - they covered Yixing’s skin in large patterns, keeping Yixing on bedrest still.

He’s seen himself in the mirror - swathes of his previously smooth skin now gnarled and charred, ugly and dark in the reflection. Like Lord Chen didn’t merely set fire to him, but rather let his lightning claw gouges all over Yixing, ruthless and mean, so severe that Yixing doesn’t doubt his tale would spread.

Naturally, it would start from this town. Then the pilgrims would come in the summer time, witness the temple-keeper’s scarred visage and whisper it all the way back to wherever they came from. All throughout China, Yixing would be known - a boy who got too close, who met a god, and paid the price.

It is a story, a fable, a moral tale to tell children after a scolding. The narrative has enough tragedy to immortalize itself, passed down mouth to mouth, until Yixing’s bones are burned, his ashes scattered, but his scars remembered.

All the stories that left Suho’s lips over the year they spent together, and Yixing wonders, dreams, imagines Suho keeping himself company with yet another temple-keeper, murmuring lovingly of Yixing, what curse he brought upon himself when he loved his god with so much heart.

Yixing’s stuck in his thoughts until he notices the twilight streaking across the snowed-over pavement outside his window. He is in the back of the facility, his view mostly a straggle of trees rising up the slope of a mountain, smaller than the one where the temple is nestled within.

The light stretches in gold, pink, orange - spraying the shadows of the fauna across the untouched snow. It is beautiful, ethereal in its perfection.

There - in the perfection, is a shimmer. Yixing has a moment where he doubts his eyes, then wants to laugh. He knows what he’s seen, and seeing two figures appear like mirages fifty metres away from his window is not the most extraordinary vision. Rather bland compared to how Lord Suho had used his rain to save the burning temple so many weeks ago.

Nevertheless, the figures walk closer, and Yixing can make out the beautifully folded silk, the way their steps don’t leave footprints on the snow behind them, their dark hair and lovely faces as they phase completely through the window and wall without so much as a blink.

Lord Suho is still as handsome as ever - a soft smile and cheekbones, silk shimmering blue to complement the pallor of his skin, how his brows arc over his eyes so Yixing can’t ever miss how Suho felt. He’s always been so expressive and it’s been his eyes, thinks Yixing. How his eyes crinkle at the corners, how shadowed they get when his brows knit together, the glimmer within when he’s amused, the warmth, the heaviness, when he looked at Yixing for just too long, just too intent.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ says Suho now, his voice still low and light, when he’s trying to be careful.

‘Lord Suho,’ says Yixing eventually, feeling his throat unstick, the ball of emotion rise back down to knot uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You’re back.’

‘Yes, I - ’ He gestures jerkily to the person beside him. ‘I brought someone.’

It’s so hard to look away from Suho, but Yixing forces himself. Finds himself surprised yet completely calm when faced with an ethereally beautiful doppelganger. Dressed in silk robes coloured a light green, he’s a pretty complement to Suho’s blue. His hair is dark, eyes soft, with that full bottom lip that Yixing recognizes the same as his own. When the other nods his head, he says, ‘Yixing, I’m Lay.’

For a moment, Yixing can’t speak. He stares, eyes wide, then his fingers scrabble to get back under the covers of his blanket, feeling some rush of embarrassment, of shame, to look so - so _ugly_ and _hurt_ in front of the god of beauty, of healing.

‘Stop,’ says Suho immediately, going towards him, hands trying to peel back the sheet. Yixing looks at him, and he can’t resist, helpless. ‘Stop - I brought him here for _you_ , I - I wanted… I never wanted to leave you.’

‘But he had to,’ continues Lord Lay, his voice just as lovely sounding as Yixing could ever imagine. ‘I apologize for the delay, but I am here now.’

‘Why?’ asks Yixing hoarsely, unable to look at Lay. He focuses on Suho - the familiar face, the expressions, how over the span of a year, Yixing had learned to read him so, _so_ well. ‘This is my punishment, isn’t it?’

‘What?’ Suho lets go of the blanket, his hands - beautiful, unmarked, perfect - looking to hold Yixing’s, how his face crumples when Yixing draws back from the touch. ‘Yixing, please.’

‘What is stopping Lord Chen from coming down and giving these scars back to me, Jun - _Lord_ _Suho_?’ Yixing clenches his jaw, tries to stay determined even when Suho looks so pained. ‘I couldn’t go through being burned again. Please be reasonable.’

‘He wouldn’t,’ starts Suho, drawing himself up to stand straight, determined. ‘I wouldn’t let him - this isn’t - _no_ , I won’t have you suffer like this, not for _my_ mistakes.’

‘If you like…’ cuts in Lord Lay softly. ‘Suho can transmorph you entirely. You do not have to live a human life - you can become a mountain spring, a valley river. You can flow into the sea.’

‘No,’ says Suho, voice sharp. ‘Yixing _must_ stay human. He’s my temple-keeper.’

Yixing looks between them both, shaking his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

But he does - completely, entirely. Yet interacting with the gods, taking from them their boons, their curses, their anger, their blessings. Yixing has only encountered Lord Chen and it was enough - he’s not sure if he’s ready for how he will change with Lord Lay’s magics upon him.

‘Let Lay heal you,’ says Suho, gaze imploring, coming close to Yixing’s bedside, leaning down, so close that Yixing could stretch forward and kiss him. Instead, he just stares back, wondering if a god would understand a mortal’s fear.

‘Not entirely,’ he says quietly. ‘Please, not entirely.’

‘You may keep your childhood scars,’ murmurs Lay, like he _comprehends_. ‘I’ll take care of only the burns.’

‘No, not just that,’ says Yixing. ‘I need to keep at least a bit. I need to remember. I won’t have a god’s curse be forgotten.’

‘Unnecessary pain,’ says Suho incredulously.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he replies. ‘Mortals only live one life, Lord Suho.’

Suho clicks his jaw shut, but nods, stepping back. Lord Lay takes his place, pulling his silk sleeves up. Yixing notices the delicate leaf embroidery along the hem in a darker shade of green, thinks it’s beautiful, but the thought slips away when he sees Lay’s hands glow.

‘A little bit,’ confirms Lay, and smiles beautifully at Yixing. ‘I see why Suho is taken with you.’

‘Lay - !’

‘I’m just a mortal,’ replies Yixing.

‘Yes,’ says Lay, holding Yixing’s hands in his own. ‘That is just what he needs.’

Suho watches, so clearly anxious with his knitted brows, the pinch of his mouth. Yixing wants to laugh, instead: ‘and after this? Where will you go?’

The question seems to make Suho focus on something, blinking fast before sighing. ‘After this, you will go back to being a temple-keeper, and I… no, _we_ , the Twelve… we will go to die.’

Yixing jerks in surprise, and Suho smiles, a bit soft, a bit sad. ‘It’s not the highest compliment… but you gave me courage to die.’

‘And be reborn,’ murmurs Lay.

‘Yes, of course,’ says Suho, then shakes his head, looks at Yixing with a brighter, prettier smile. ‘To be reborn anew, to start as gods anew. I keep forgetting - that we will be young again, fresh, yearning for experience. To do good again. The world suffers when we become jaded, but - we will make it beautiful again, all we have to do is let go.’

Yixing stares up at him, trying to focus through the waves of energy that tickle at his skin, seemingly pulsing through his veins, making his heartbeat so loud in his ears. ‘Will you - will you remember?’

Suho meets his gaze then, silently, shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

The pain wars with the healing magic within his body. Yixing swallows the sadness clawing up his throat. ‘Thank you then - for your blessings.’

‘There’s another lesson in all the stories,’ starts Suho, voice oddly hoarse, eyes shimmering, looking awfully like he’s about to cry. Yixing won’t be able to stop himself from sobbing if Suho does - thinks maybe that’s why Suho tries so hard not to break. ‘That gods are as fallible as any mortal.’

‘You said that already,’ replies Yixing.

‘Let me _finish_ ,’ says Suho, smile strained at the ends. ‘The gods are fallible, and love will follow despite everything.’

Yixing stares at him, even while he can feel the wetness on his cheeks, the tightness of his throat, as he finally cries helplessly. ‘That’s a terrible line.’

In return, Suho’s face crumples and he sobs, an ugly honest expression. ‘I know.’

‘Rest now,’ says Lay, a hand on Yixing’s shoulder, gently easing him back against the pillows. ‘Rest, and wake up healed.’

Yixing squeezes his eyes shut as he feels the blanket drawn over him, listening to the rustle of silk robes, the choked off noises of Suho crying, and just wishes for it to stop for a moment.

Above him, Lay sings a soft melody until Yixing falls asleep.

**iii.**

There lives a sage up in one of the many western mountains; they say near Chengdu - who’s they? The pilgrims, of course. The ones that come and go every summer to pay their respects to one of the Twelve.

This sage protects the wisdom of Lord Suho. Like… it’s said if he should he go near a dry garden, a spring shower is sure to come, following his steps and making sure everything is growing around him. His temple is the most bountiful _and_ beautiful one of all of Lord Suho’s shrines - what do you mean you _saw_ it? Have you ever left the city?

The Internet? What? Of course I don’t have a computer - how am I going to carry it with me as I travel? Shut up - listen, the sage and his temple, the two are blessed.

Now - they’re also cursed! I swear! If you look under his robe sleeves, one of the sage’s arms is shriveled, burned up, twisted and gnarled, and the other arm is as perfect as ivory. Thunderstorms are seemingly rare up in that mountain, but when they come - it’s fierce, like divine fury and wrath.

What am I getting at? Man - if you would listen - I’m getting to the _point_ ; city folk are so impatient, huh?

When asked about the strange on-goings of his temple, the sage only smiles and shrugs, before hurrying off to do his duties. The only time the sage ever refers to anything is when, ater his duties, he tells tales that aren’t even mentioned in the Scripture. Some of the pilgrims even call it blasphemy, but the sage shrugs at that too, and shows his arm, claims he’s paid his price to be allowed speak.

That’s not even the strangest part. It’s when the sage imagines he’s alone, holding some tea, that he’ll start singing. And out of his teacup, the steam will rise in whisps, curl into the air, into each other, until a form appears - a handsome face and silently laughter, cupping the sage’s cheeks and kissing him.

It’s - of course it’s Lord Suho, who else? Who else brings rain and makes tea perfect and keeps us alive? Apparently, in another life, the sage and Lord Suho used to be lovers. In this life, they have finally found each other - a god and a mortal.

That’s the damn lesson - that even love is immortal. Nice, isn’t it?

It just feels like too long since a myth came to life, alright. The sage is a damn modern legend - and I’m seeing it work, all that faith in those who only partly paid attention to the Twelve coming back to them these days?

What’s my name? What? His?

You people are terrible at listening - the sage’s name is Yixing. And me? I’m just passing through - Jongdae, if you must.

-

**Author's Note:**

> -I pulled on a lot of buddhism, hinduism, and sikhism for myths and practices  
> -the 'white room' myth is a reference to the 2k12 mama m/v with suho and lay  
> -it's not clear, but the gods ~die~ on y2k at the end of the fic (and reborn ofc)
> 
> this was defs experimental and new, so thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!!


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